


cc with the febuwhump what crimes will she commit

by idontknowhowtoread (heatherpotts)



Category: PBG Hardcore
Genre: Animal Death, Blood, Body Horror, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Near Death, man.. idk whats going on honestly fdhjgfhf, more stuff tba head empty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22511965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heatherpotts/pseuds/idontknowhowtoread
Summary: ah shit, here we go again
Relationships: Dean Elazab/Ray Narvaez Jr., Dean Elazab/Stewart Hargrave, i guess? kind of - Relationship
Comments: 42
Kudos: 9





	1. day 1/lost

**Author's Note:**

> well,, hello again fdhgghdf
> 
> these are febuwhump prompts from @spidersonangst on tumblr (I think), shout out to hawky for sending them in the discord bc. we inspired!! i changed a couple of the prompts and its also missing a prompt for the 29th rip but. still epic!! I really like these kinds of challenges fhdgfghd theyre very fun for me so. hopefully this will go as well as goretober did even though I have,, a lot less prepared going in bc I only have day 1 and then like. a third of day 2 done right now oops,,,, but yeah you know the drill, daily uploads hopefully, lets get it!!
> 
> but also required disclaimer, no disrespect intended to the actual real life people, all of these are set in the game and im writing characters that do not necessarily reflect the real players. if you are one of the people this is based on, or know any of them personally, maybe.. don't read this bc that's probably just gonna be uncomfortable for everyone involved,,, that applies for all my fics but especially things like this and goretober bc. im sure itll go some Places gfdhggfd,, ok 👁️👁️ 
> 
> but anyway, something im doing differently from goretober, this time im using a randomizer wheel for the characters for each day which is fun!! hopefully it wont be as,, dean heavy as goretober was hfggf (although it still is dean heavy honestly it gave me him i think 4 times and hes gonna show up a lot anyway bc I like writing him,, but i can at least partially blame the wheel this time fhgfhg) but yeah!! subject to change because. for example I have every day semi planned out using the wheel but despite her being on the wheel it did not even once give me dodger so that makes me kind of sad,, good for her for escaping maybe fhggfd but also I wont guarantee that she wont show up, ill specify for every day whether or not I used the wheel bc. it is fun
> 
> day 1 the wheel did give me mcjones so. here he is yeah babey,, not really much of a tw for this one just kinda,,, man is lonely and sad idk hgdfg,, and I kind of went ape with this prompt im not totally sure what I even did but. yeehaw!!
> 
> so yeah!! hope u enjoy, time for pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mcjones searches for the stronghold, and the eyes seem to just be taking him in circles.

Mcjones huffed, tossing another eye of Ender up in the air; _how many had he used up by then, six? Too many._ He still had a good amount, fifteen, enough to _hopefully_ make it to the stronghold, but he most likely wouldn’t be able to fill up the portal without some additional grinding.

It floated up, veering to the right of Mcjones’ path, and then shattered in midair with a disappointing _clunk. Piss._

He grumbled a bit to himself, dragging his feet along in the direction of the eye, even though he had been _sure_ the other _however many_ times he had thrown up the eye that he hadn’t strayed from its path in the slightest. He was hardly keeping track of how _long_ it had been, since he started his journey to find the stronghold. He wasn’t even sure exactly what day he should count as the beginning of his journey, since _somehow,_ he had managed to go in a big circle and ended up in a birch forest not far from home, that he recognized from all the cobblestone pillars they used as landmarks. Long gone from him was how long it had been since... this _all_ started. Since he _lost_ everyone else. 

Since he heard Jeff take an arrow right through the throat and had to clean the blood off his equipment, since he passively let Luke and Barry fall through an exploded hole in the Nether fortress into lava, since he watched Lucah die in a blaze of glory; quite literally, fighting off the blazes to her last breath. Since he heard the bones of his own brother breaking against the rocky hillside, and failed to catch him, or even bring his body back up. And since Dean, who he was supposed to finish this with, who was supposed to be his last ally, accompanying him to the End, simply… disappeared. No last words, no crippling echo to repeat itself over and over in Mcjones’ head, no indication that he had even died until the sun had risen and Mcjones noticed he still hadn’t returned.

Maybe he was still out there somewhere, had just gotten ridiculously lost, but Mcjones doubted it. Maybe he’d run into him at some point on this endless, confusing and convoluted journey to the stronghold, but…

He found an iron sword with familiarly reckless chips in the blade, a lump of purple wool, and a bushel of soaked wheat on the shore a few days later, a decent ways away from home but still relatively close; easily close enough to have made it there in the time Dean had gone MIA. Mcjones’ theory was that he had drowned; or had been killed by a drowned. Same difference, he supposed. Those tridents were scary; and contrary to his know-it-all status, this was actually his first time _seeing_ those things, so he considered it a miracle that they hadn’t claimed any lives sooner.

He didn’t leave much of a grave for him, though. He regretted that. At the time he still had some semblance of hope, but before he knew it, it was time to leave.

But regardless, onward he trekked, even though he was alone. And exhausted, and miserable, and desperately missing his friends. That was all he knew how to do. He had no idea how long it had been since the beginning, since the beginning of the _end,_ but it felt like it had been years. _God,_ he thought to himself, _how did Jeff manage to do this twice?_

_Jeff,_ he probably considered himself lucky to die first, and be spared from this fate. Mcjones couldn’t blame him for that; this sucked _absolute balls._ He hated it, more than any other task they were forced to perform, more than strip mining for hours and wandering through the Nether, searching for the fortress in that _unbearable_ heat. At least, at those times, there was some hope. He wasn’t alone.

And if Jeff couldn’t do it, _both_ times he had tried, Mcjones had no idea how he could be expected to.

He really wasn’t sure how long it had been since he left their home on this journey; nine, ten days, maybe? Eleven? Was that counting the time he accidentally found himself close to home? He had already lost track, and it frightened him just how easily he forgot, just how eager he was to put it out of his mind completely. Just thinking about it gave him a headache. But then, the sun was setting, and he knew he’d have to set up for the night. He wasn’t stupid enough to travel at night, at the _very least._

… But he _was_ stupid enough to want to keep going. Stupid enough to let every single one of his friends slip through his grasp. Stupid enough to lose track of time, again and again, and lose everything. 

It was a little tempting to try to keep going, honestly. It seemed noble, and maybe death would finally take him in the form of a well disguised skeleton or a creeper sneaking up behind him in the darkness. Maybe he’d consider that a blessing, if that was the sort of thing that could run in the family.

But he knew he couldn’t. This was a fairly nice area, a dark wood forest, with rich green grass and giant mushrooms that he just couldn’t harvest, for whatever reason. Which was rather frustrating, because they looked really cool. They would have made a lovely addition in their little flower garden in front of the house. That had been... Luke and Austin’s idea, he recalled; Dean often stole from it to give to Mcjones, and the two of them would give him hell for it, and… 

… Every time he thought about it, the memory wrapped around his skull and _squeezed_ painfully, made his chest contract and collapse into itself. Such pretty memories, tainted by frustration and grief, anger towards himself. He hated it.

He didn’t bring any of those flowers with him. Too little inventory space, and… _oh,_ with the state he was in, that had to be for the best.

He dug himself a little hole, underneath one of the larger trees; his shovel was on the verge of breaking. He’d brought all of their iron with him, so he could just make another, but it was still frustrating.

All of this was frustrating. It was frustrating having to wait until morning, and then wandering tirelessly in the direction of the eye, but never seeming to make any real progress. 

The more he thought about it, the more frustrating it felt, and the more it hurt his head. But in his little dirt hole, trying to sleep but being unable to due to the monsters walking around up above, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He hoped he’d actually find the stronghold soon. That he’d finally complete this stupid, exhausting, endlessly frustrating path, that seemed to only be taking him in circles, because he wasn’t really sure; dark oak forests were often huge, and they were difficult to differentiate from one another, but he had the awful feeling that he had actually _been here before._ That he had walked in _another_ big circle, somehow. It made him want to crush every eye of Ender he had to bits with his bare hands.

He never would, of course, but…

He sighed, rolling onto his side on his makeshift bed, trying to block everything else out and failing miserably. The only thing more deafening than the footsteps above him, or the crackling of the lit torch by his side, or the tinny clinking of the eyes, was a voice inside his head that he couldn’t deny; it was absolutely right, about absolutely everything.

That he was lost, that this search was going nowhere. That he might never find the stronghold, and that he certainly won’t make it to the End, let alone defeat the dragon all on his own. That this was pointless, a lost cause, that he had failed from the moment he lost all of his friends. Jeff's death, he could excuse himself somewhat; he wasn’t there, and it was a sudden, freak accident involving that skeleton, when they were still almost completely defenseless. But Luke and Barry, he lost due to an oversight, something he should have fixed. Austin, he lost because he just wasn’t paying enough attention to him. He knew, of course, these kinds of things happened; but that didn’t absolve the guilt.

Lucah, he watched die. And did nothing. She died with honor; Mcjones knew he wouldn’t, whenever that mercy finally came. He failed her.

And Dean… what else could he even say?

He had failed them all. He was in the process of failing them again, doing all this. He knew he had to try, he couldn’t just give up, that would be an even worse failure that he’d never live down; but ultimately, the outcome was the same.

He failed, so many times over. And they had lost.

The image would strike him at times, in the cacophony just the same as the silence; of _all_ of them, gathered around the portal, staring into the star filled abyss. Jeff, with silent, yet very obvious gratitude for the fact that for once, he wasn’t staring into it all alone. Austin, next to him, bouncing in place from nervousness and sheer excitement. Luke, in a similar trance of pure awe. Barry, cool as ever, with his hand on Dean’s shoulder as he mumbled and repeated to himself, _holy fuck, we’re actually here, oh my god, what the fuck._ And Lucah, with bloodlust and raw energy in her eyes, as she turned to him, nearly shouting; _“Let’s fucking do this!”_

He didn’t know why he could imagine it so clearly, with so much care and detail despite it going against his every wish. He didn’t know why it was Lucah, especially, who the thought of would just _crush_ him, beating him to a bloody pulp. She wanted this, so badly. She wanted it up until the very end.

And what did that make of Mcjones? A _coward_ , he supposed. A weak, cowardly, lost child, who had failed all of his friends, and apparently couldn’t do anything right. Couldn’t even play the game the way he was _supposed_ to, with _hope._

He flipped onto his other side, biting down the surge of _weakness_ that nearly captured him, squeezing his eyes shut tight. 

At the very least, if it was any consolation- which, it wasn’t- his thoughts weren’t lost on the viewers. On his friends, from wherever they were watching from this time around; and certainly not on Todd, who had a disturbing sort of _fixation_ on this sort of thing. He hated that more than he hated himself, he supposed, which was… something. 

In the morning, whenever that came, he would start again. Allegedly. 

But of course, only ever with the simple truth, with the low whine in the background, with the throbbing roar underneath it all, that he was _lost._ That _he_ had lost, and… 

Well, that was all he could really say. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🚶


	2. day 2/fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucah gets sick. And it seems worse than... should even be possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh god im posting this so late dhgd it barely counts but. I made it im here :orb:
> 
> I need to,, not make them all as long as these first 2 days are fhgdhd this is hard,, i dont even know how i feel about this one rip but regardless, lucah time!! wheel gave me her and i just support the lucah in minecraft hardcore agenda so much todd are you out there i am begging y
> 
> warning for some gore stuff and,, animal death im sorry,, like its minecraft but i made it Bad 😔
> 
> oh also I forgot to mention this day was sponsored by cop car by mitski fdhgfd it is a good song,, stream

This was… some kind of illness, Lucah was sure of it. Apparently, one she didn’t know how to treat.

Sicknesses weren’t a huge deal in these worlds, usually absent from the realm of consideration itself. There was a lot less to it, compared to the other worlds she had seen and played in. 

… Supposedly, since she could admit, she wasn’t nearly as experienced in these _types_ of worlds as her friends were.

But, from what she knew, there were some basic, little bugs that could be spread around from time to time. Nothing all that out of the ordinary, and nothing really specific to how the victim may have caught the sickness either. The symptoms only ever consisted of headaches, coughs, fever, exhaustion, and at the very worst, weakness ranging from mild sluggishness to barely being able to wield an axe. Such conditions could be caught from over-exertion, working in the mines for too long, working too closely with anything pollen-y, staying out in the rain too long, getting beat up by a zombie, swimming in cold water, and etcetera. And 90% of the time, the cure-all treatment was just warm food, preferably mushroom stew, and then sleep. She’d heard that certain potions worked as instant cures as well, but they certainly didn’t have those yet; they didn’t even have a Nether portal.

She knew those things, and she knew they were minor in the grand scheme of what misfortunes could befall them in this game. And she had _definitely_ seen worse. But, she still made it her motherly duty to look out for such illnesses, regardless of how truly irrelevant it was. 

Like the night two days prior, when a day of farming and animal herding ran late, and thunderstorm rolled in just as the sun went down. Monsters had begun to spawn as they were trying to regroup and get everyone safe inside, and Lucah had taken it upon herself to fend off a majority of the mobs. It was by no means an easy battle, a couple excellently aimed arrows had gotten close to killing her, and it was often difficult to see through all the wet hair repeatedly falling in her face.

But it was oddly… enjoyable. Despite it being freezing cold out, and tiring her out to the point of nearly passing out on the spot. Despite how it made her sword feel almost impossibly heavy, and how it literally _almost killed her._ It was… kind of fun, swinging and slashing, over and over again. Receiving pain and delivering it back. Running off the sheer adrenaline, even as the battle began to strongly favor the monsters. When lightning struck and thunder rolled, it made her feel like... she was a part of it. Powerful; an animal. 

She didn’t question it much in the moment, and fell into a _very_ deep sleep mere minutes after getting everyone inside, not bothering to change out of her soaked clothes; both from the rain and from the dark, gooey blood from the zombies. She didn’t think the zombies _had_ blood until that moment, she didn’t think _any_ mobs did. At least not that much. But the blood seemed to be gone by the morning, so it was… fine, she supposed.

The next morning, she felt a bit sick, surprising to no one. Persistent tiredness, numbness in her limbs, feeling all warm and clammy, and a splitting headache. Quite a few others were sick too; so she spent most of the day resting in bed and making more mushroom stew for all of them. Still, she didn’t question it.

But by the morning after that, it seemed that everyone else had fully recovered; except for her. She felt marginally better, certainly less tired; she had more energy than she knew what to do with, since she was still rather weak. She couldn’t tell if she had gotten any more or less warm than she was the other day; she was thinking _less,_ but she really wasn’t sure. The headache had _slightly_ subsided, she _thought,_ but it was still very much there. And she noticed that she was… trembling, more than she was yesterday; unless she just hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t much, just a constant tremor in her fingertips, and the occasional mild muscle spasm, but _still,_ she didn’t think much of it. _Just fighting off the last couple bugs, I guess,_ she’d say to them with a smile. _Little assholes._

She rested for most of that day, too; as the others went out and tended to the farms and the animals, and she was pretty sure that most of them went mining. Which they very much needed, they were seriously low on iron.

But that all meant she was alone for most, if not all of that time; and for all the time her mind was unoccupied, holding her steadily cooling mushroom stew and staring out the window or just at the walls, she thought of fighting. Of the feeling of swinging her sword and making contact, of the electric numbness and the _adrenaline_. Of the state of mind she entered that night in the rain; where nothing mattered except for killing those _bastards,_ pushing herself as far as her adrenaline would take her. When there was thunder rolling through her veins. When she was the storm.

That was when she _finally_ began to get a bit worried. 

But still, there wasn’t anything she could really do, other than eat her stew, try and fail to think of other, happier things, and hope that she’d feel better in the morning.

She didn’t, which wasn’t much of a surprise to her, honestly. The exhaustion was gone, and she felt as if she’d gotten most of her strength back; she could actually stand up right away after waking up, which seemed like a good sign. But the numbness remained; the shaking felt both better and worse, like it had burrowed in deeper, like it was her bones that were trembling rather than her muscles. The muscle spasms still remained though, and she almost felt like a dog. And, of course, the _headache_ remained, more prominent than anything else; the same splitting, freezing, clammy, burning hot pain. 

There weren’t… _any_ people in the house, or at least not immediately around her. She’d guess that some, or _most_ people had stayed in the mines overnight, but she wasn’t really in the state to count who was still home and who was missing. Her vision was starting to swim a little bit, the more she walked around, growing fuzzy and red around the edges, so she doubted she’d be able to count if she tried.

But, everything was fine, of course. She just needed some fresh air, sure.

She stumbled out the door and towards the farms, holding yet another mushroom stew, cold from sitting out overnight. She wondered if there was actually a better way to treat… _whatever_ it was she was feeling, because she still felt like _shit,_ and she knew she shouldn’t be. She didn’t want to… burden them, or put them at risk of her _whatever_ disease. She was supposed to be helping them when they got sick, not get so horrifically sick herself. Those thoughts made her headache worse, made the shaking so much stronger; she thought she might pass out. 

Being outside clearly wasn’t doing her many favors either, but she found herself there anyway. The sun felt _brighter_ than usual, stronger and warmer than usual, _louder_ than usual, a low hum ringing in Lucah’s ears. Every time she blinked, the back of her eyelids showed red. Everything felt heavy, yet numb, yet hot, yet freezing cold. 

Was she dying? That was… certainly something to consider. It seemed rather plausible. She’d think about it more when she was in a better state to think, if that ever really came. 

Her feet dragged her towards the animal pens, something she had only seen a half finished glimpse of, since so much progress had been made while she was resting. They couldn't find any pigs, but they had cows, chickens, and sheep, and they were all doing great; even though the pens may have been somewhat uncomfortably small. 

And as Lucah approached the sheep, she realized just how _loud_ they were. They _all_ were. And she knew she should leave, should go back and rest some more, because _clearly,_ this wasn't helping. Her headache had been made ten times worse, that _throbbing_ again, leaden exhaustion settling into all of her limbs. She felt much too warm, like she was burning up, her vision nearly going dark; but she found herself frozen in place.

The only thing she could apparently do, albeit subconsciously, was draw her sword.

It sent another pulsing wave of _energy_ through her, burning heat that made her wince, hissing at the sting. The blade glimmered in the sunlight, and it was _way too bright,_ so much it was _physically painful,_ wrapping around her skull and _squeezing._

Another thing she somehow managed to do without thinking; the fence in front of her was partially broken, and she hopped right over it.

Most of the sheep backed away from her as she entered the pen, as far away as they could get in the small enclosure. She was certainly unfamiliar to them, never having fed them or given them any reason to trust her. Plus, she was holding a sword, and probably looking pretty… _off._

One sheep stepped forward though, breaking away from the rest of them; a baby sheep, waddling away from the others and staring up at Lucah, giving her a shrill, high pitched _baaaa._

The other sheep followed in suit, the sound rising into a cacophony, almost _mocking._ The cows and chickens followed along, joining in on the barrage of sound, as did the wind, and the crackling vibration of the heat, and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears. It was too much, too loud; she couldn’t think straight, couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. The headache grew tighter and tighter, until her head felt as if it had been split in half, the chilled feeling of blood running down her face against the overbearing heat of everything. 

With her sword in hand, despite her limbs feeling much too heavy to move, they somehow managed to move on their own; and she struck the baby lamb.

It didn’t really feel like she had moved; her vision weaved in and out of two overlapping pictures. One, of herself standing completely still, the sheep in front of her. The other, her sword coming down, the child caving into itself beneath the strike, split almost cleanly in half, red staining its white wool. Red flowing and pooling beneath it, soaking the grass. The other sheep standing still as statues in one image, and in the other, frantically shuffling away in protest, continuing to make that _awful_ sound. 

The weight was still there in her limbs, but it felt almost… redistributed. Liveable, even… something she could wield. 

She realized it suddenly; the thunder was back. Her headache was beginning to clear. The adrenaline was back, her heart was pounding, and she just _kept_ swinging until there was nothing left to swing at. The two pictures overlapped, fading together, a shifting pool of color that she couldn’t fully understand. One, of nothing but blood red and gizzards laying at her feet; the same blood red staining her clothes. The other… nothing there at all. No bodies, no blood; lumps of wool and mutton, but no gory remains. And certainly, not the _at least_ two sheep she knew she was _supposed_ to keep alive when it came time for the culling. 

_Oh well,_ she thought to herself. She found herself smiling, and she wasn’t sure why. She could feel what _felt_ like blood dripping down her face, she could just _barely_ see it when she looked down at her cheeks, and it felt refreshingly cool; better than water or lukewarm mushroom stew could ever do. 

She didn't know what had brought on… whatever _fever_ she had just experienced, and she was pretty sure she was _supposed_ to be scared, but… she liked it. She knew, vaguely, that this was incredibly wrong, and she was _seeing things,_ and she was _sick_ in more ways than one, but… she just didn’t know. She only knew the most basic feelings and sensations, and what she felt was an absence of pain; excitement, energy, even joy. She really wasn't in the state to be questioning herself; if she was okay, why she was doing this, why this made her feel the way she did, if something was seriously wrong with her- which, somewhere deep in the back of her mind, she had a feeling the answer might be _yes-_ but she knew it made her feel better. Made the headache and the heat go away, brought back the adrenaline and the thunder.

She blinked, once, twice; and the blood was gone. The wool and mutton remained, but she was sure that it wouldn't for much longer. It was as if no sheep had ever lived there.

_Oh no... a wolf must've gotten in, or something? Oh, that's horrible…_

She chuckled to herself at the thought of that. The headache was starting to come back, the heat and the exhaustion, and there was still far too much noise; but something told her that _that was enough for now._

She hopped back over the fence, brushed a hand against her cheek and found that it came away unstained; and then she returned home, made herself some more mushroom stew, and went back to bed.

She didn't know if she was going to get better; but something told her that she might be alright either way.

Maybe this was incurable; maybe this was never an illness at all. And maybe that was just fine. It was calm enough at the surface; but of course, deep down, she was shaking. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are you ever tired of being mom? dont you ever wanna go apeshit?


	3. day 3/living nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Austin has a nightmare. Not-nightmare. Not-not-nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god I am getting these in so close to the wire fhgdfg,, I haven't had time to get these prepared in advance like I was able to for goretober so aughg,,, made it though just in time
> 
> wheel gave me austin so. shout out to viv for us accidentally both doing austin for this day fhfdgdf ily viv, sorry peebs,, and man idk what I even did with this prompt either,, its way shorter which is nice for me and I tried to make the pacing like,, spooky and dreamlike but idk if it makes any sense so rip
> 
> here we go though!! pretty big gore warning and. its nightmares so watch out okay. man is sad

This wasn’t real. This _wasn’t_ real.

Austin knew it wasn’t, _couldn’t be;_ he didn’t know why this was still happening, still _seeing_ this, but he knew it wasn’t real. Couldn’t be.

The house was dark, every torch having been snuffed out; the only light came from the weak moonlight flooding in through the windows, giving what could still be seen an otherworldly blue hue. Austin sat in the corner, right behind the door, his knees pulled to his chest. 

He didn’t know if this was where he really was; this wasn’t real, he told himself, but he couldn’t tell if he was still asleep. He couldn’t tell himself he was still asleep; he felt like he was awake, had shot upright and found every other bed empty, had stared straight ahead and seen _something._ Had bolted out of bed, had ran along the twisting, never ending halls- _were those real? Certainly not-_ had felt the _scratches_ along his ankles and his calves. The nails, the claws, the splinters, the walls closing in; this wasn’t real, he was sure. It couldn’t be.

He pulled his knees just a bit closer to his chest, pulling himself _tighter,_ shutting his eyes tight and tried to breathe a bit more normally. A bit slower, more oxygen actually making it to his brain; maybe that would help him wake up, if he could think more clearly. A bit less _loud,_ less frantic; less likely for _it_ to find him, or at least make it a little bit harder. These thoughts raced back and forth in his mind, trampling each other and burying the notion that none of this made _any_ sense- he knew that this couldn’t be real, that it _wasn’t;_ and yet, he was cowering, like a child. 

He didn’t know, he couldn’t think- of course, because this wasn’t real. Surely. 

There were footsteps down the hall, adjacent to Austin’s hiding spot; the sound fading in and out between leisurely padding and full blown _running_ towards him. Austin couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything. This wasn’t real, so there was nothing he could do, he was pretty sure. It was fine, he was going to be fine.

How many times had this happened now, anyway? He could do this. He would be fine. This wasn’t real. 

The footsteps continued closer; Austin couldn’t place exactly where he was, somewhere in the endless, confusing, dream-like halls- but _close._ Closer with every passing step. Every tiptoe, every thunderclap in his direction, every beat of his heart that seemed both much too quick and worryingly slow.

A figure bolted through the doorway; made eye contact with Austin for a moment, then kept running, slamming himself into the wall and sinking to the floor. Cowering, in the exact same position as Austin, staring at… nothing. It _almost_ looked like there was a figure there in the doorway, the semi-transparent outline of a shadow, maybe something completely masked in the dark; but Austin couldn’t make it out.

This wasn’t what Austin was expecting this time around, not at all. Jeff and Mcjones were usually the ones popping up in this _place,_ if it could be considered a dream, or some hallucinated, semi-tangible realm of horribleness. They’d chase him, stare at him, break down sobbing in front of him and fall into his arms, be all _inconsolable._ Then Austin would be the one staring ahead, blankly and unable to do a thing except yell at himself in his own mind; that was always _fun._ Dean had shown up once or twice, too- was he the one that had all the… _contort-y-ness?_ On second thought, Austin didn’t want to remember. He wasn’t in the right state at the moment, and he really didn’t have time. Luke, Ray, Ian, Barry, they’d be there, just a bit further off- because the guilt wasn’t as strong there, he supposed. 

And this... wasn’t that, because the figure that came slamming itself into the wall and sounding like it had _broken_ something in the process, was himself.

His eyes darted away from the invisible figure, back to the other Austin, and-

He was staring at him. Blankly, unseeing. Because he was dead.

There was blood gushing from his throat, running steadily and pooling beneath him. Wounds in his stomach, too- slightly darker, a sickly _grey_ to them, which was difficult to see in the low light, but Austin just knew. He just _knew_ that where his lips were slightly darker, where his skin was just slightly too pale, it was because he had _suffocated,_ on top of everything. Austin recognized it all; every scratch along his calves and forearms, every nick of an arrow and zombie bite, every broken bone and painstakingly recreated trail of blood. He’d seen it all before; seen it all play out before him, a hundred times by now. 

But for the second time, or- well, like, the _fifth, or something,_ if he was counting every death separately; he got to see the aftermath. 

He glanced back over at the doorway; there was still nothing there that he could see. No more footsteps, no more monsters.

And when he glanced back at the other Austin, his eyes had moved just _slightly,_ the corner of his mouth pulled just a millimeter further upwards. And Austin knew, immediately, it was _mocking_ him.

_Don’t you wish it was you, instead?_

Austin looked down at himself- completely clean, no blood, no serious injury- even the scratches along his calves looked as if they’d been treated. 

And when he looked back up, the other Austin was right in front of him, blood soaked hands rushing to make a vice around Austin’s neck.

Then there was nothing. And then, there was more darkness. More late night, early morning, more blue moonlight flooding in through the windows to drown him. More empty beds, more empty silence. 

The cat- Jeff had named her, but saying it reminded him too much of Jeff, and thus, he just called her the cat- didn’t seem to notice Austin had woken up. And she was tearing up the thin blanket, and thus his legs; again, of course. 

Gently, he sat up, and removed her. She hissed in disapproval, but then simply wandered off. He checked the doorway for any mysterious shadow figures, any dream monsters, any dead friends- none, he was pretty sure. The mysterious shadow figure part was hard to really fact check. 

But that was good enough for him, so he laid back down- and laid awake for many moments more. Apart from the cat, nobody else was there to notice that he was still awake. 

And he did eventually fall back asleep- he was still exhausted from, well, _everything._ And thankfully, that sleep was dreamless, but… he supposed he’d never really wake up from all of _this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> giving different characters the I Am The Last One Alive Oh God dilemma is. very fun I guess ive done that a lot now fhgdfgh rip


	4. day 4/red stains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray supposes that a lot of flowers must have been used to make this much red dye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> its not 2am im not late :orb:,,
> 
> but uhh,, god I am tired no thoughts rn dfhjgdf,, the wheel gave me ray for this one and I immediately knew what I had to do thank you god,, I like this one I wrote it all at once in my bathtub after showering. pog,, sorry if there are any super big spelling errors or if any of it is. not good I am tide,, also I still don't really know how to write ray ripppp
> 
> warning for. blood if you can believe that, and a death wow that's crazy

Red poppy petals, crushed and grinded up with the hilt of any tool, made red dye. It was a simple recipe, that one; a no-brainer, really. Red petals obviously contained red pigment; and a  _ lot _ of it. It was no special, secret formula, but Ray was very much familiar with it. He was fond of poppies, red flowers in general, and often carried them around with him day to day; either dangling them in his opposite hand or keeping them smushed somewhere in his bag.

It was a little sad, the aftermath of such treatment. The poppies were resilient here, but at the end of the day, they were flowers; inherently fragile. And so, they often didn't stand the test of time all that well. 

But what they would often do, though, was leave stains; vibrant red imprints of the petals, after being pinned under the weight of everything else Ray had in his bag or just being crushed in his hand when the fact that it was there slipped his mind. There was a reason it was used so commonly for dye; it was powerful, and it really didn't come out easily. The inside of his bag was practically polka-dotted, and his hands would often be left stained.

Especially when he got to work on specifically  _ making  _ the dye. He was made the captain of that venture, since he was the appointed  _ flower-master _ . Jeff wanted red carpets for their house, to feel like they were living at the height of luxury, and who would Ray be to refuse? Also, Jeff wanted red beds, because he didn't like the white ones, and he thought the single grey one they had stood out. Ray was a bit less enthusiastic about that part, but still, he was willing to support it. 

It was kind of calming, making the dye; crushing up the petals with the hilt of his pickaxe, grinding it into powder, adding a bit of water and then scooping it back into a rose-like shape. Inevitably staining both the crafting table, his hands, and the hilt of his pickaxe, but it was  _ whatever _ . It was a pretty color, and managed to remain vibrant no matter what surface it was on. Then he'd hand off the dye to Jeff or Luke, they'd go dye the wool of the sheep, and whenever they told him they needed more, the cycle would continue. His only regret was that he had to destroy flowers in the process; but they were lucky enough to live decently close by a flower forest, Ray's  _ literal dream  _ area, so he wasn't going to complain too much; he had infinitely more than enough to supply him his happiness.

But due to his familiarity with vibrant red stains as such, it took his brain  _ way  _ too long to catch up with where he really was.

He was staring at his hands, utterly  _ covered  _ in red. But wetter than usual, maybe a little darker; although that may have had more to do with his surroundings being so dark, just one torch illuminating the pitch black cave, and pretty far away at that. He couldn't quite remember how he had gotten into this cave, or what had happened, or why his head was swimming and why everything hurt  _ real bad,  _ but he thought he'd let his immediate observations inform the context. 

Which implied he had been crushing up dye again,  _ lots  _ of it.  _ Oh, okay, that's fine.  _ Even though this was a strange place to be doing it, and it smelled a lot more tangy and iron-y, more  _ overwhelming  _ than flowers really  _ ever  _ were. That was a big, important thing about flowers, right? That they were meant to smell good? _ Oh, well. _

From his hands, his gaze moved in even closer to himself, looking down at his body. He was laying down with his back against the wall, he hadn't noticed that before. He must have gotten tired. And understandably so, because there was so much red, smeared across his chest and soaking his stomach. If he made such a mess of himself, he must have made a  _ lot  _ of dye, then. What were they making, again? Carpet? Jesus, how much carpet did they need?

He looked up, and there was a figure staggering towards him, limping a little, but clearly moving as fast as he could. The colors swam for a bit, Ray had a little trouble focusing; but the picture came together eventually. Black hair, glasses, shiny armor reflecting the dim torchlight, and a lot of red, too. He must have been helping him, then. His assistant dye producer? That  _ really  _ begged the question, how much dye did they need?

"Oh, f- God, fuck- Ray," Dean gasped out, settling onto the floor in front of Ray, seeming to choke on his words and spitting out some more red dye. Why did he have red dye in his mouth? That sounded... not very tasty, and there were much easier methods of grinding it up. But if he was meant to be Ray's assistant dye producer, wouldn't Ray have taught him how to make it at some point?

Dean's eyes were wide, wild, flicking up and down Ray's body, side to side and behind himself. It was too quick for Ray to really keep up with, but it seemed like Dean was really excited about dye production. Or nervous?

"Have you- Fuck. You got food? Eat," Dean stammered, his words slurring together, not waiting for a response before digging into his bag with hands soaked red, getting everything in his bag red as well. Usually, you're supposed to at least  _ try  _ to wash your hands before you touch the rest of your stuff. 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck- C'mon, Ray, talk to me at least," Dean begged, even more red dye coming out of his mouth, somehow. As if he was storing it all in his lungs, or something; that couldn't be safe, or sanitary. 

"Whaddya wanna talk about?" Ray replied, although he also found it difficult to speak clearly, and without coughing up more  _ red. _ What the fuck, when did  _ he  _ get red dye in his mouth?

" _ Anything.  _ Just let me know you're still with me," Dean choked out, sounding oddly  _ frustrated,  _ even pained, as he continued rifling through his bag. Was he upset about his inadequate dye grinding technique? Or had he accidentally hurt himself, somehow? He had a lot of red dye in his mouth, how did he do that?

"Where 'm I going?" Ray asked, although it suddenly left him with a bitter, stone-cold taste on his tongue. He figured that was probably what red dye tasted like,  _ really _ not the best. 

"Uh- Y'know- Fuck, where's my damn  _ food?  _ Do you not have any on- No, fuck, fuck- You're going, uh- well, to your  _ fucking death, _ I guess," Dean rambled, getting only more and more frustrated with his search through his bag. Ray did have food in his bag, he was pretty sure, but he saw no reason as to why he needed it. He wasn't hungry at all; he already had too much in his mouth. 

"Whh- What? Dean, 'm not  _ dyin', _ " Ray replied, but the words came out weak and wet with dye, probably borderline incomprehensible. That was strange, because Ray really did mean it.

Dean just looked at him for a moment, eyes wide,  _ wild.  _ Up and down, side to side, fixating on Ray’s stomach, and then behind himself. 

Then they filled with water. Ray didn't understand how Dean was keeping all of that stuff in his body.

He pulled himself closer to Ray, a red stained hand grabbing Ray's shoulder. It hurt, for some reason. His breathing grew even rougher, more and more red dye falling from his mouth, more and more water streaming down his face. Ray was  _ kind of _ starting to realize that this was a little bit weird.

"Ray- God, okay, fuck- You just need to stay with me, alright?"

"I'm not going anywhere, I told you-"

"I know, I-" Dean interrupted harshly, gagging on an especially debilitating glob of red dye and vomiting it out to his side. "I know. But, j- just, work with me here. You need to eat, I- think I'm outta food, but do you have some?"

"I'm not hungry."

"Should be. And I am, so-  _ please, _ " Dean pleaded-  _ why  _ did he feel the need to  _ plead  _ with him? This was no biggie- they ate before coming down in the mine. Right? He believed so. 

"Well, I- Uh…" Ray attempted to begin, but was then caught by another coughing, vomiting fit of red dye. This was worrying, wasn't it? But he still didn't understand it. As his eyes were turned towards the floor, where the pools of red dye were amassing, his eyes fell on Dean's body, and he finally realized something… decently important.

There were arrows sticking out of him. One in his stomach, one in his side, and it seemed like there were many more in his back, from how Dean… carried himself, in general. All the pain he was _ very clearly _ in.

This was an unorthodox method of making red dye. What did skeletons need red dye for? To dye their bones? That would be sick, actually. 

He looked down at himself again, and finally realized exactly what had happened. There were arrows sticking out of him too, except they weren't exactly  _ sticking out.  _ They were in much deeper than Dean's, to the point that only the very end feathers were showing, and were of course, dyed red. Ray didn't think he could grab the end and remove it if he wanted to, if he was  _ able  _ to. And there were several, in his stomach, and his shoulders, and in between his ribs-  _ oh,  _ was that where the mouth stuff was coming from? That would do it. 

And as his mind finally caught up, his body finally started to fail. 

The pain caught up to him, what was once a strange, distant but ever present discomfort turned into a  _ searing,  _ destructive, tearing him limb from limb kind of pain. The  _ red _ finally caught up to him- oozing from their wounds, dripping from their mouths, it was blood; and  _ oh, _ there was water dripping down his own face too. Now, what could that be?

"Ray- hey, c'mon. You with me? Please, I- please, no-"

Ray didn't think he was still with him. He didn't want Dean to be, if this was where he was going. Although Dean clearly wasn't doing too great either, so maybe he  _ was _ with him. Was that bad?

His eyes finally flicked back up to Dean's face; soaked in sweat, tear tracks slicing his face, red staining around his mouth and smeared across his cheeks. Red around each wound and dripping down, red staining his hands and almost every patch of his skin.

It was beautiful, in a way. Red was his favorite color. What a beautiful, resilient, yet fragile flower.

It was a sight Ray was comfortable enough with to let the darkness take him after witnessing it. He was perfectly alright with letting it be the last thing he saw. 


	5. day 5/intruder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd believes that the game, as it stands, has room for a late addition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me when i'm a day behind ahaha,,,, I am trying my best 😔
> 
> this is also,, barely the prompt but alas fdhgdfhg,, the wheel gave me ray again and also jeff even though I didn't use jeff nearly as much I just kinda went ham,, but yeah I think I like this?? pog
> 
> tw for blood and sad but. its fine mostly don't worry about it

There were lightning strikes outside. One right after the other, _boom, boom, boom._ Just close enough together, just one too many in sequence for Ray to _know_ they weren't natural. 

It was pitch black out, the moonlight failing to make even a dent in the heavy cloud cover overhead, the pouring rainstorm above them. They were all safe inside, about to go to bed- Ray had already been _in_ bed, but… it felt like something just wouldn't _allow_ him to go to sleep. Which was utterly unfair, he'd been in the mines all day, was he not allowed to rest? There were phantoms, now, those green eyed _swoopy_ things that came when you didn't sleep enough, right? Those things were freaky, and he really didn’t want another encounter with them. 

But regardless, they were forced awake and out of bed. Austin was the first to really stop and stare out the window, as if in a trance, _god-knows_ what he thought he was seeing. It made sense that Austin was the one acting weird; being the host and all, in _cahoots_ with the wizard named Todd he had heard so much about, and sustaining that _dramatic tension_ was certainly in his best interests. 

But what was _really_ weird- not to undermine the weirdness of Austin staring blankly out the window, completely unresponsive to anyone else, as well as the existence of Todd himself- was that this was… frankly, just _weird_ timing. If they were going for something intense and dramatic and emotionally charged, there had been absolutely no build-up or foreshadowing. Or, Ray had just totally missed it, which he supposed he shouldn't disregard that possibility. But they were probably just about halfway through the game by then; they'd already made farms, found diamonds, gone to the Nether, and they'd already _lost_ people, too. Barry, in the Nether, and Luke, to an Enderman. Both had been dead for quite some time; so if _this_ was trying to ride off the shock and grief of their deaths, it was late to that as well. 

There really was no logical reason for this to be happening, at that exact time and place. Unless it was some afterthought or late term addition, but Ray was under the impression that Todd didn't _do_ afterthoughts. 

There were a lot of things very _different_ about this season though, so maybe it wasn't _too_ ridiculous. They already had fancier looking villages, and evil grey villagers that tried to kill them, and crossbows and tridents, and surely a lot of other things that Ray had yet to discover. And he liked his crossbow, at least; holding it close to him as he reluctantly rolled out of bed and came grumbling to Austin's side. So maybe, there _was_ a rhyme and reason to this, and this would be okay _-ish,_ at least.

… Doubtful. 

The spot Austin's eyes were fixed on, a stretch of grass in their backyard, was suddenly struck again by another bolt of lightning, the _boom_ shaking the walls. But then, a wide ring of fire spread around the spot of the strike, just one gap in the flames, facing where they were looking from. An entrance, an _invitation,_ it would seem.

Dean sighed, dragging a hand over his face and muttering some curses under his breath. "I… I _guess_ we gotta go out there. Fuck."

"Wh- Really?" Ray replied, although it was less of a question and more of a complaint. "It's fucking pouring, I'm not all that hyped about heading out there. And for what, like- why, for what, some fire?"

"No, I… It's, well- obviously, it's Todd. But we can't just leave him on read like that," Jeff argued, vaguely trying to comfort Austin, to no physical response at all. "He'll get moody, and then set our house on fire next, or whatever. I… guess he's got something to say."

"Yep. It's fucking stupid, but if we wanna keep our house, guess we gotta," Dean said, an air of finality to it, already drawing his sword in anticipation. "Honestly, I'm betting he's just gonna tell us we suck and then give us a pity cake, or something. I dunno."

"Sounds like you probably shouldn't make that bet then," Ray muttered, mildly amused. Dean didn't do much more than glance at him, giving a tiny laugh softer than wool, but it made his knees go a little wobbly.

"Um… Austin, you wanna go?" Jeff asked a clearly still unresponsive Austin, nearly tipping him over, only for him to fall back into the exact same place. Ray wasn't sure if he was still breathing, or what the hell was happening; but he definitely didn’t like it. "... Yeah, didn't think so."

"Jeff, you wanna stay with him? Ray and I can handle it, you make sure he doesn't, uhhhhh…" Dean said, preemptively deciding the answer to his own question. "Die, I guess."

Jeff was quiet for a moment, getting another good look at Austin. Still frozen, still unresponsive, still standing with eyes wide and unblinking, staring at the ring of fire. Still questionably alive. "... Yeah, you're right. You guys… yeah, good luck out there."

Dean nodded, heading for the staircase down to the ground floor, making little implication to Ray that he was meant to come along, which left him standing frozen like Austin for a second. But he caught up quickly, and hurried after Dean. 

He remembered his previous complaints the moment they stepped outside. The rain was, in fact, pelting down; immediately making him shiver and soaking him to the bone, yet magically having no impact on the ring of fire. Todd knew how to make an entrance, that was for sure, but Ray _definitely_ didn’t trust it. Dean still kept ahead of him, walking towards the fire like a soldier marching into battle. It was a hell of an atmosphere; the bright, raging flames, the rain pouring down and darkening everything else around them, the empty sky seeming as if there was nothing above them, and the thunder and lightning looming in the distance. All that, with Dean in the center, his sword at the ready and reflecting the firelight. It was… _certainly_ an image, one that Ray wouldn’t easily forget, to put it simply.

Dean didn’t hesitate when stepping into the ring of fire, despite the burst of heat and the sudden awful sense of _dread_ that Ray felt after following him in. After another somewhat reassuring glance from Dean, they spread out defensively, Dean holding his sword out in front of him and Ray readying his crossbow, aiming for the very center. But inside, at least for the moment, there was nothing. 

The moment of peace didn’t last long. Thunder rolled, lightning struck the center of the circle, and Todd appeared in front of them, floating about ten feet off the ground.

“Why, _hello,_ my friends,” was the first thing Todd said, his voice echoing and mimicking the thunder in the distance. 

_Sketch,_ was the first thing Ray thought about it. _Incredibly sketch._

“Uh- Hey. What do you want?” Dean shouted, pointing his sword directly at Todd, which seemed like a _horrible_ idea. Ray admired Dean’s boldness in _most_ cases, or at the very least found it entertaining, but this was not one of them. He knew that Dean knew Todd better than he did, that Dean wasn’t _stupid- mostly_ \- and that all implied that Todd probably wasn’t planning anything _too_ horrible. But still, it was a risk, and one that Ray wasn’t happy about seeing Dean take so recklessly.

Todd chuckled, and Ray had no idea if that was a good or bad sign. “Oh, Dean. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? Don’t worry, I’m not here to ask, or _take_ anything from you.”

Ray glanced over at Dean for a moment. His eyes were locked on Todd, his jaw clenched, every detail about his posture screaming _badass;_ but Ray couldn’t help but notice that there was a tremor in the hand that held his sword. In all of him. If it was from the cold, or from fear, Ray wasn’t sure- but he wouldn’t be surprised if it was both.

“The opposite, in fact. I merely thought, you’ve all been assigned with a... light cast, especially for the undertaking here, correct? Just the six of you, with two already dead. Especially considering your previous track records as well, it’s… a little pathetic, if I’m being frank. I don’t intend on walking back on our little _dead for good_ rule again, don’t worry, but I thought I might offer you a gift. One that may lighten the load, somewhat,” Todd explained, his robes flowing in the sharp winds, the tone of his voice _much_ too casual for the setting. “But only if you accept, of course. Do you?”

Ray looked over at Dean again. Dean opened and closed his mouth a couple times, seeming unsure of what to say, glancing back at Ray as if asking for help. “Uh…”

“... Yes? I think?” Ray piped up, aiming away from Todd with his crossbow for the moment, his heart suddenly racing with adrenaline. He looked to Dean for approval, and Dean met him with a non-committal, clearly _terrified_ shrug. “... Okay, sure, yeah. Yes, we accept.”

Todd chuckled again, perfectly timed thunder rolling in the distance. Ray realized that _maybe_ he shouldn’t have said that. “Wonderful. It’s lovely to have you back by the way, Ray- I don’t believe I mentioned that, or... fully introduced myself, actually, but I’m sure you’re aware by now. Regardless, yes, good. _Perfect_.”

Lightning struck the center of the circle again, and Todd disappeared, a blinding white mass of light taking his place. The light began to change, expanding, growing outwards- and Ray aimed his crossbow right back at it. The light was accompanied by what sounded like _chimes,_ an ethereal sort of wailing, almost reminiscent of a _voice,_ shifting in time with the light. The light began to resemble a body, arms and legs sprouting from it, a face slowly beginning to form beneath the light. Colors began to peek through the white as its form became clear, red and brown dominating, and suddenly, the light disappeared completely, making the body completely visible. 

It was a woman, Ray realized, seeming peacefully asleep. She had red hair tied up in a heart shaped bun, brown and green clothes like that of a ranger’s, bare feet, and a choker around her neck with a tiny heart shaped charm on the end of it. 

Ray realized all of those things just a _millisecond_ too late.

The sudden disappearance of the light startled him, and it was an accident, he _swore;_ but he fired his crossbow, and aimed it _too well,_ as the arrow caught right in the woman’s throat. She never even got the chance to open her eyes, falling to the ground with a sickening _thud._

“Oh my G- Holy _shit!”_ Dean exclaimed, his voice beginning to _break,_ not from fear or from yelling too much, but… something Ray didn’t fully understand. Dean dropped his sword and _ran_ towards the woman, dropping to the floor beside her and trying to check for anything he could do. Which, Ray knew there was nothing, because even from a distance, he could already see the _river_ of blood gushing from her throat, more blinding than the light itself. From a distance far enough that Ray couldn’t hear what Dean was mumbling to himself over the sound of the storm, but close enough that he could see that Dean was about to start _crying._

“... Oh,” came an echo-y voice hovering above the woman. Todd pressed his lips together, averting his eyes. He put a hand over his face as if shielding himself from the sun and turned his head away, then disappeared once again. 

Ray could feel it suddenly, like a pang in his chest, _knowing_ that Dean’s eyes were on him. He looked back at Dean, seeing him cradling the woman’s head in his hands, seeing the blood that stained him too. Seeing him staring back at Ray with eyes that were tear filled, soaked in anger and confusion, despair and _grief,_ and it occurred to him that Dean probably knew the woman. 

Ray dropped his crossbow, suddenly feeling every part of his body going weak and wobbly. More than wobbly, turned to _mush_ from the inside out. His heart lurched in his chest, the dread overtaken by raw terror and _disgust_ with what he had done. 

And it occurred to him, as well, that he probably wouldn’t be allowed to have his crossbow anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "fucked up that your name is dodger but you couldn't dodge this arrow 😔" -ray at dodgers funeral
> 
> also I was imagining dodgers fucken,, light formation being set to the instrumental to drift away,, shout out to spinel,, and also inspired by how gems in steven universe reform in general idk I just wanted to mention that fhgdfffj,, sorry queen ill do you justice one day 😔😔😔


	6. day 6/fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke goes to the Nether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me when im several days behind,, ahahaa,,,, :orb:
> 
> but also wow we've already hit 10k words my brain hurts.. this was fun to write though I like it I think,,, wheel gave me luke and that is what I did
> 
> honestly no big tws here,, references to previous deaths and one ouchie but. we're pretty much chilling for this

Luke freaking _hated_ the Nether.

He was sure any sane person would too. It was _literally_ their version of hell, with fires crackling everywhere you looked, and hundreds of zombified pig-amalgamations ready to attack and easily _kill_ at the slightest provocation. Every mob in the Nether was terrifying, from the deadly Wither skeletons to the horrible _sky babies_ they called Ghasts, and the sheer _heat_ of the place was unbearable. To no one's surprise, obviously, the place that was on fire all the time and filled with lava was _a bit_ toasty, but _geez-_ he felt like he literally couldn't _breathe_ half the time he was in there.

Which, of course, fed into why he wasn't all that _hyped_ about being back in there.

The only reason he was back in there was for the Nether quartz. Lucah, Dean, and himself were the only ones left alive, and they were lucky to make it out with all the blaze powder they needed for the eyes and potions, with as few _casualties_ as they did. They had made it to the stage where they were focused entirely on preparing for the dragon, even though they were still a couple Ender pearls short; it was terrifying, all of it, Luke couldn't lie. He'd never gotten this close to the goal before, and had never really expected himself to. 

Being in the Nether, seeing all the bubbling lava that had swallowed his friends in both this world and others, hearing the fire crackling that sounded like the _screams_ ; it reminded him how much he didn't deserve it.

But regardless, there he was. An important part of preparing for the dragon was enchanting all of their stuff, and they needed more experience to unlock the high level enchants they _badly_ needed. So, Luke had volunteered to go farm it, as Lucah worked on the potions, and Dean did... whatever he did. Hunting? Fighting more Endermen? Something like that. Luke hoped he was safe; he loved Lucah of course, but Dean was the one who really _knew_ what he was doing, more than the two of them combined. And he already severely doubted their chances of winning as the three of them; if they lost Dean, those chances might just go negative. 

But in order to gain experience, the fastest way seemed to be mining Nether quartz; barring cooking or smelting ores en masse, or slaughtering their animal farms, both options they had pretty much exhausted by then. Plus, mining Nether quartz came with the added bonus of getting to pimp out their house, get some dope new floors or something. Right before they'd... leave, and probably never get to see it again. 

That was a downer, actually. Scratch that part.

He didn't know why the Nether quartz was so valuable, so rich in experience; he had noticed it in passing on their _first_ trip into the Nether, and had his mind occupied by various _other_ things at the time, like trying not to die. Just because it was in the Nether, he supposed, which was inherently hard to get to. Still weird, but wasn't going to lose sleep over it. 

It wasn't the most dangerous job in the game, not by any means; all he needed was to get in, strip mine in the netherrack until he found enough Nether quartz, be _very_ careful not to dig into any lava, although he did have a fire resistance potion ready just in case, and then dip. It was simple enough, and although the Nether was inherently scary and deadly, it wasn't the _worst_ thing ever. He could be, like… getting murdered by an Enderman, or something instead. So he was trying not to complain too much.

It wasn't even all that long before he was at a healthy thirty-six levels, hopefully enough to enchant the rest of what they needed enchanted, with plenty of levels left over to do whatever else he wanted. Like naming his sword, or something. He'd already been calling it Ian, since after...

There was a fire burning in a hole in the tunnel wall, right next to him, crackling loud enough to break him out of his thoughts. He smothered it with his palm. 

It was time to head back. 

Did he mention that he hated the Nether? Because he did. The tunnel he had made was barely tall enough for him to stand up straight, and it was choked with ash and netherrack dust, even _worse_ conditions than out in the open area. And, netherrack was just a weird, horrible block. It was a gaudy sort of red, really just _looked_ like meat, kind of _squished_ under his steps...

Horrible. He picked up the pace a little, hurrying back to the start of the tunnel. 

He started his tunnel right next to the portal, since it was already right next to a wall, so Luke didn't even think before coming out of the tunnel and quickly turning the corner, his hand brushing against the cold obsidian frame. It was refreshing, he always liked that about the obsidian, it-

Before he could step into the portal, there was a scream. It was far away, like it was tucked deep into the back of Luke's mind, more like it was a memory than an actual sound he was hearing. The cry of a Ghast.

And then a fireball hit him almost _perfectly_ square in the chest. 

He stumbled back, trying to escape the smoke and flames of the explosion, hiding in his tunnel again in order to compose himself. He leaned up against the netherrack wall, frantically pulling out a morsel of cooked chicken and shoving it into his face. It was kind of funny how that was how you healed in this kind of world- the cure all treatment, even for literal _fireballs._

But looking to his left, despite his vision being all _swimmy_ and wobbly, the wiggly lines of the netherrack all blending into each other; he could just barely see the gangly, little leg _thingies_ of the Ghast.

He took a couple experimental breaths, coughing on the dust in the air and struggling from the _sting_ that came with inhaling. Slowly, he _kind of_ got it together, but...

_Jeeeee-sus,_ that flipping _hurt._

He pulled out his bow, the adrenaline kicking in, and adjusted his shield on his other arm, in hopes of maybe _using_ it this time. And with his vision mostly stabilizing, the strength _kind of_ coming back to him, he darted back out of the tunnel.

In an instant, he spotted the Ghast, floating up near the ceiling, which was much lower here relative to the rest of the Nether. It was maybe thirty, or forty blocks above him? _Freaky. Not a fan._

He slid an arrow into his bow, aiming it up at the Ghast, and fired; he aimed a little too low, but it still caught at the very bottom of one of its _leg thingies-_ what the heck _were_ those things even supposed to be?

The Ghast, obviously, didn't like that very much, letting out another eardrum piercing wail. But it didn't seem to understand why it was being attacked, from _where_ , and Luke had enough time to get in two more arrow shots before the Ghast even tried turning around. It probably assumed it killed Luke the first time, which was a little off putting, but convenient enough. 

One more arrow, landing right in the middle of its _big freaking head,_ and the Ghast tipped over, disappearing into a puff of smoke. _No Ghast's tear, dang._

But no biggie, of course; it wasn't what he was here for. He was ready to _leave_.

But when he turned back to the portal, he was confronted with just... more netherrack. A crater that was half on fire, an unharmed floating obsidian frame, but no portal. No trippy, purple particles, no...

No way back.

He blew up his only way home.

_… Flip._

_Okay, no,_ he could handle this. All he needed was to reignite the portal. The obsidian was totally unharmed, so he just needed a flint and steel.

He crouched down next to the portal, checking over his shoulder for any other Ghasts or things that wanted to kill him in general, and tore through his bag. Flint and steel. Flint and steel, that's all he needed.

Steel. He had five bars of iron, for... some reason. He probably forgot to put them away before coming here. But okay, good, that was half of what he needed. Did he have an actual flint and steel, though?

He... didn't remember picking one up, or ever _making_ one, but... well, maybe he forgot.

He remembered someone- who was it, Jeff? Or Dean? Jeff or Dean, _always bring a flint and steel into the Nether. Yeah, I know everything's already on fire, shut up! But it's for the portal if you get blown up, okay? You wanna get stranded alone in the Nether, dumbass? Leave me alone._

_Dean_. It was Dean. Dean said that, yeah.

And he didn't listen to him.

_Flippppppp..._

_Okay, okay._ This wasn't hopeless. Gravel spawned naturally in the Nether, he knew he had seen it at some point. Down by the lava oceans, usually, so _okay-_ he could just zoom down and dig some, find some flint, zoom back up, reignite the portal, and he'd be home free. Easier said than done, of course, but he could do this. Right? He had a chance. Maybe not a very big chance, but he had one.

He stood back up, facing away from the portal, and... his vision was swimming again. His hands were shaking. He felt like he was going to collapse.

Maybe... _okay,_ he didn't know if he could do this. Maybe Dean or Lucah would... they would notice he was still missing, so they'd come in to check on him, and that would reignite the portal? They cared about him, right?

… Maybe not if he was considered a lost cause, though. If they presumed him dead. They didn't have time for hopeless rescue missions anymore; those have _never_ gone well. And neither of them were stupid enough to try and go into the Nether on their own.

Well, they... _kind of_ were, actually; he could see Lucah doing it, out of the need to protect and raw motherly love. Lucah had pretty much been their full time bodyguard, ever since people started going down; she was much braver than he was. And Luke could see Dean trying to come in on his own as well, probably just for the levels. Power gamer business, and whatever.

So maybe they would. Maybe they'd come rescue him. Maybe he could just wait in the tunnel, and gather his thoughts, until either he scrounged up the bravery to go find some _flipping_ gravel, or just until they came in and saved him. Assuming they would. Would they?

Luke didn't know. But he didn't have that many options.

So, he forced himself back towards the tunnel, and sat down with his back to the wall, listening for the warping sound of the portal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yoooo what the flip :flushed:


	7. day 7/cradle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd knows he isn't going soft, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im trying so hard to catch up fdgdfgh but these chapters keep getting so long :orb:
> 
> but yeah I pretty much wrote this whole thing while listening to cinnamon by hayley williams on loop,,, shout out,,, the original prompt for this was leather bound wrists but I was like,,, Hm and ended up grabbing this from a bad things happen bingo instead fdhdhgfgh rip. but the wheel gave me todd and austin for this, and I think I like this a lot,, I really love writing todd even though I do him so disrespectfully most of the time,, here is your one chance to be nice sir :orb:
> 
> same kinda deal here, not too many tws, a little more injury description and reference to past deaths but yeah not too bad

Todd was closely familiar with the sound of explosions. 

There was always a little bit of individuality to each of them; the trickle of upturned dirt falling back to the ground, the harder substances being cracked and shattered by the force, if the sound bounces off or any walls or simply fades into the air. The nature of the explosion, big or small, near or far, and exactly _what_ is caught in the explosion.

Often bodies. Often, Austin.

This didn’t surprise Todd. He had a… tendency, that one. A curse, some would call it. Todd knew it was out of his control; so he’d be more inclined to call it a coincidence. 

When he heard the explosion, he knew precisely what it meant. He could hear the debris falling, dirt and gravel, even some stone pebbles; mixed in with lighter blades of grass and flowers torn into pieces. The way they fell to the ground, despite only lasting less than a second, reminded Todd of the pattern of rain. It was almost calming, if not for what it implied. He was the only one in the position to find it anywhere _near_ calming, of course; so he took care to savor that. 

There was little echo, the sound only bouncing off the trees, rustling the leaves. It was a quieter explosion, a smaller one, more precise. Todd had convened with the creepers once or twice; they did take… pity, sometimes, despite how it seemed. They had their own perception of mercy, one that Todd wouldn’t be so rude as to question.

And so he knew, this explosion was merciful. More than deadly, sure; but quieter, closer, more contained. Supposedly wanted, by the supposed victim.

He had learned by then what that meant. 

He sighed, sinking a couple inches from where he floated above Austin’s house. Had been a house for all of the players in this world, once; but calling it by any other name would be somewhat misleading. It would deemphasize the fact that Austin was _so_ very alone.

It was a strange, cruel sort of coincidence, that concept. He didn’t know why so many games ended that way, honestly; reduced to the last man standing, facing an insurmountable task. Trying their very hardest, but inevitably failing in the end. Todd knew it was out of his control; really, he wished it wasn’t. 

Not to imply that he cared about them too much, of course. He was simply implying that it got boring, after a while. It had been a very long time since they’d last won. Since Austin last won, in particular. For a moment, Todd questioned if he ever _had,_ but _yes, he did._ The one with the ocean monument, yes. The one goal they only did once, because it was too easy.

… Todd didn’t consider himself the kind of person to feel much pity. Or guilt, or remorse, or really any sadness at all, despite all he witnessed. How could one be, in this position? Really, he wanted to be here just as much as the rest of them did; which was to say, it was out of his control. Some of them were allowed to leave, but he didn’t fully understand _why._ Why they were, and not others; not Austin, not Jeff, not Dean, not himself.

He liked to consider himself emotionally unavailable. If he ever allowed himself to be anything other than that, he really didn’t know what would happen to him. Bad things, surely.

But there was always a tiny sliver of shame that sparked in his chest, when his mind wandered to such topics. The littlest bit of remorse, pity. The sense that despite the majority of himself denying it, and that certainly, none of the players would agree if he ever mentioned it; but that they were, in fact, similar. The same, one could say, at the risk of being horrifically disproportionate. A tiny part of himself did want them to win, to maybe _not_ witness the deaths of their friends and then die themselves, and not even just the part that was bored. 

Therefore, the logical conclusion that Todd came to, that Austin, the last remaining survivor of this world, had gotten himself blown up again… did make Todd _mildly_ sad.

He warped near Austin’s location, which appeared to be less than a couple minutes walk from his house. _He could have made it,_ was a thought that crossed Todd’s mind. _Easily, even._

Todd knew it was easier said than done, too, but… it just made him feel restless. Made him feel just vaguely _bad,_ gave him weird, worm-like, borderline painful feelings in his chest. His face remained as cold and still as a statue all throughout, of course, but he simply felt… generally unsatisfied. Disappointment, would it be? On whose part?

He sank even lower, almost close enough to be touched by someone on the ground. Other than Austin, obviously, who appeared to be unconscious, laying next to the new crater. The whole area was shrouded in moonlight, but all was clearly visible to Todd- _perks of being a wizard._ There had once been a flower patch here, he believed. A path to the house, in fact. Most obviously of all, there wasn’t a broken body laying there before.

He lowered himself all the way to the ground, landing gracefully enough, at least for his first time actually using his legs in a while. Leisurely, he walked towards Austin’s body, tipping his head to the side, analyzing every detail of him.

His armor must have already been nearly broken, as most of it was cracked, some pieces seeming to have been completely blown apart in the explosion. There were bits of iron shrapnel mixed in with the debris around them, one big chunk landing by the nearest tree. His hands were empty; either he had been holding nothing, or something light, which had been taken from his hand and flung away. Whatever he was holding, it wasn’t his sword. That was still securely holstered at his side. He was laying on his side, on his _shield,_ nearly in fetal position. 

Todd felt like he was gazing upon a child. Like a poor orphan, in the streets of eighteenth century London. Weak and weary, poorly equipped for the world, and utterly helpless. Practically begging him for spare change, even though his lips were closed, far away from even the _prospect_ of speaking. 

Todd didn’t consider himself… particularly _philanthropic,_ at least not here. The whole point of this game was that it was up to the players to make their fates, to go on their adventure, _their_ journey; not Todd’s. His job was to keep the show running, not to interfere.

… Well, he _did_ interfere relatively often. But only to make things more fun, not to claim anything for himself. He didn’t decide who lived and who died, who won and who lost. That was up to the players, and the players alone. 

But, well… His dilemma, at that point, was that Austin was still _alive._

Seriously hurt, yes. Would be dead within minutes without attention, surely. And indeed, accepting of his fate. But… _well…_

_…_

He was just so… _helpless._

_… Fuck._

_Okay, well…_ Alright, he was willing to convince himself that _surely,_ this would make things a little more interesting. The state of the game was very much hopeless at that point, but Todd didn’t see _too_ much of a problem with sprinkling in a tiny bit more hope into the mix, even if it didn’t take Austin very far. This was just making him feel bad. It made him feel bad feelings in his chest, and he didn’t like it. Even if it was just prolonging Austin’s suffering and preventing their switch over to the next season; he just… wanted to. It wasn’t logical, or particularly justifiable, or even _fair;_ he knew this could only be described as cheating, but he just… felt like it. _Whatever._

He knelt down next to Austin, pulling him up by his arms, got an even _closer_ look at the dirt and blood smeared across his face; his face, which still seemed almost _peaceful,_ making only the tiniest of movements, but demonstrating that Austin was still just _barely_ holding onto consciousness. And carefully, trying to make sure he wasn’t bending anything out of place or letting Austin’s head roll around too much, Todd pulled him into his arms. 

It wasn’t the most graceful thing he could have done. Todd was a lot more used to… well, _magic-ing_ stuff around, not actually physically doing much at all, and he’d definitely never tried to hold another man in his arms before. A man who was, he was only _just_ realizing due to his propensity for levitation, actually _taller_ than him. He was still strong enough for it of course, _thank you wizard powers,_ but it was… rather awkward.

Todd didn’t think he really minded it, though.

He could have just as easily magic-ed Austin away, warped him directly back into the house and splashed him with some potions to make him be _not dying anymore,_ but… it was another one of those feelings where… he just wanted what he wanted, and although he couldn’t fully understand his own motivations, he trusted himself anyway. He probably shouldn’t have, he knew, but… there he was, regardless. It felt _slightly_ more justifiable to carry Austin back like this as well, even though this was still very much cheating- doing magic stuff was _more cheat-y._ So, whatever. 

He did need magic to open the door, but he decided that didn’t count. Quickly, he laid Austin down on the bed- there were multiple beds, presumably for multiple _dead people,_ so he _hoped_ it was Austin’s bed and that he didn’t just make anything worse- and took a couple steps back. 

He watched as Austin slowly began to stir. Adjusting slightly on his side, breathing deeply, making this little _noise_ deep in his throat that made Todd feel that _pity_ again. He didn’t think about the grand scheme of this game too often, why they were all here and when they’d be free, if any of them deserved this and if there was even a reason at all; he knew it would drive him crazy after a while. But it did strike him, suddenly, that Austin didn’t exactly _belong_ here, if it could be said that any of them did. He was experienced, of course, he knew how to survive _most_ of the time, and despite his flaws, he had generally been a consistently good player.

But he had _never,_ not once that Todd could remember, been able to succeed on his own. The one season Austin had won, there were four survivors; that was the most they’ve _ever_ had, if Todd wasn’t mistaken. And that was remarkable to him. The whole _win with as many survivors as possible_ ship had long sailed by then, but it still made Todd wonder. Of course, logically, there’s safety and power in numbers. But he wondered if that meant Austin was just _too weak_ on his own and had gotten lucky hiding behind all the others that one time, or if he really was _stronger_ with others around. He was their host, after all; their pseudo-leader, even if he rarely acted like it.

Austin _almost_ began to sit up, still much too weak and in too much pain to do that, but Todd could see that he tried. And in response to the pain, a whimper escaped his throat, one that _kind of_ sounded like Todd’s name. Todd wasn't used to being visible like this, he had almost forgotten; so that was… exciting, he supposed?

“Try not to move around too much, you’ll hurt yourself,” Todd spoke, smiling when he noticed that he still had his _scary wizard echo._ For a moment, he almost forgot his _true_ role here. But setting that aside for another moment longer, he rifled through the chests lined up against the wall, and found some baked potatoes, carrying them over to Austin. “Eat, though.”

Austin weakly rolled onto his other side, facing Todd, giving him a look like a sad, starving puppy. He took the baked potato from Todd and held it close to his mouth, slowly nibbling at it. 

“Why’re you doing this?” Austin mumbled, seeming like he was speaking to the baked potato rather than Todd, but Todd still took the liberty of answering for himself.

“You… looked… very _sad_ and pathetic, out there. So, I just thought I’d prolong your torture, just a little bit longer,” Todd explained, but he felt like every word just came out… slightly _wonky,_ like he was lying, when he really wasn’t. They tasted bitter, maybe?

“You felt bad for me?” Austin replied, still barely coherent and spoken with a mouthful of potato.

“… One could say that, yes.”

“… Okay,” Austin mumbled, and simply focused on eating for a couple moments longer, leaving Todd standing there idly, wondering if this was actually a horrible idea all along. He could just kill Austin now, he supposed; if this really was a mistake, he could just fix it. He was still weak enough to be taken out by bumping into a wall too hard, and Todd could literally _smite_ him. So, if he started regretting this too much, he could just…

“… So, what, are we like… working together now?” Austin asked, finally starting to enunciate his words just a _little._ “You’re not being a freaking- wizard jerk guy anymore, and we’re on the same side now?”

“… Don’t bet on it,” Todd deadpanned, but… truth be told, he didn’t actually know. He didn’t know what this entailed, he was still working on unpacking what he had actually _done._ But… maybe they were on the same side, now. Maybe… he could actually help. Would that be too out of line, just this once? If Austin still does most of the work, maybe it’ll be fine…?

He didn’t know. He just didn’t, and he didn’t know if any book could ever teach him, if he would ever truly solve it. But _maybe_ was Todd’s best answer, and it seemed almost… hopeful. 

"… 'Kay, jerk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> how do people die in hardcore just say no thank you


	8. day 8/dark state of mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> goddd I am so sad,,, I am trying so hard to catch up,,, orb.,,,
> 
> but heres something at least wahh,, the wheel for this one gave me dean but. I ended up using jeff instead bc the ideas machine was broken so f... this was still fun to write though even though I was very stressed,, I wrote a lot of it when I was very frustrated with my laptop pen not working and not letting me draw a thing that's due in 2 days so. maybe it worked out for this prompt though idk fdhgdf
> 
> tw for previous death, graphic ish descriptions, and just a lot of mental abuse foolishness,, help this man

This was fine. Everything was fine. 

Jeff turned on his heel and walked in the other direction, down the same path from their house’s door to the window that he had walked along for… maybe two hours, by that point? But that wasn’t the point. His footsteps aligned with every other heartbeat, perfectly synchronized, almost uncanny. Perfect- yes, yes, everything was  _ perfect. _

_ Everything was going to be okay, _ was one of the many mantras he kept repeating to himself, pacing back and forth in the empty room. Fine, completely. There was no reason for him to keep getting so riled up, so frustrated, so emotional, so  _ unhinged;  _ none at all. He was fine. He didn’t need to calm down, not really; he just needed to let his brain run its course, figure itself out,  _ realize  _ that it was fine. He knew he was acting like a child, throwing a tantrum; or, at least, his brain was. He knew Todd had called him out on it before. He knew he needed to do better.

He knew he needed to be fine. 

And he was, of course. Pacing gave him a little something to do while he listened to himself, at least. His footsteps perfectly in time kept him steady, stable, in control. Kept him from hyperventilating, or screaming, or breaking anything, or hurting himself; not that he’d do any of that, really- but no harm was done by having the precaution.

He approached the window, saw himself in the reflection for a split second, and turned on his heel once again.

He was fine. Everything was fine. It was fine that the only other  _ person  _ he had seen in weeks was his own reflection. In the windows, in the reflection of gleaming metal, in the still lakes and ponds outside; but it was his own fault for looking so long, upsetting himself. Getting too selfish, or something. There was some myth about it, he believed; he couldn’t quite remember, couldn’t think straight yet at all, but he knew it must exist, and that he needed to  _ stop.  _

It was fine that he saw figures on the horizon sometimes. Off in the distance and in the corner of his eye sometimes, in pond reflections and outside the windows. It was normal, of course there were  _ things  _ out there- zombies and skeletons looked vaguely human-ish, creepers and endermen did too if you squinted hard enough, and there were even wandering traders walking around now. So, of course, when he saw figures, it meant nothing more than that.

Even when sometimes, the figures disappeared whenever Jeff turned to look for them. Daylight is fatal to those mobs, and sometimes things just disappear completely. It was normal. It meant nothing more than that.

Even when he thought he recognized the figures; being too tall for a zombie but too short for an enderman, too well equipped (and also llama-less) for a wandering trader, down to the hair and their posture, and the sound of their voice-

But no,  _ no-  _ He knew he couldn’t go down that road. That  _ crazy-person _ road. It would destroy him. He knew it meant nothing at all, what he saw, what he  _ heard.  _ Everything was fine. 

He was mere inches from the door when he turned on his heel another time, padding back towards the window.

It was fine that he was in this…  _ position,  _ for what would be the third time, by then? It frightened him that he wasn’t totally sure- but he knew it really didn’t matter, since he really wasn’t in the state for recalling past traumatic events. And besides, he was fine, so there was really no need to question himself.

It was fine that he was alone. Again, just with the mobs outside and the single fish they managed to keep in the bedroom. He didn’t even have his dogs this time, but that was okay. Even the monsters outside seemed scarce, but that was all the better for him. He wasn’t sure when the last time he had seen an animal other than their fish, outside in the forest- maybe one or two cows- but it didn’t really matter. It was fine, everything was. 

It was fine that he watched them all die. Every single one of them, not even a single death was kept from his view this time. One to lava underground, one to a creeper explosion that also destroyed part of their house, two in the Nether to a pigmen attack at the worst possible time. One to an enderman, and one to Jeff’s own blade, as they were fighting.

But it was fine. It was an accident. It wasn’t like he was going to hold it against Jeff- Ian, he knew Jeff, and he was a guest, so Jeff had no idea if he would even be given the chance to come back. So, even if he scarred him forever, and ejected him from this world, a world which he might never get the chance to experience again (which, in Jeff’s humble opinion, might be a blessing), it easily could have been worse. It was fine, it was an accident, and maybe no one would even know. 

He didn’t have dreams about it, no sir. None of the deaths, especially not Ian’s. He didn’t wake up gasping and clutching his chest, shown perfect, crystal clear and  _ searingly  _ painful reenactments of how they had died, the pain shifted onto Jeff. No, never, not at all. And even if he did, that would be fine- it meant he was still alive, at the very least. 

He didn’t get like this often. He wasn’t always so delusional and inconsolable, forced to pace back and forth in silence in order to get himself back under control. Only twice or three times a day, and that was nothing. Maybe more often than that when he was really unlucky- but it was no big deal. None at all. 

He was fine. Utterly, truly, completely. He’d done this so many times before- and sure, maybe he had failed, but if he wanted to  _ win  _ for once, he only needed to try harder. Be better, stop being so ridiculous. What would Todd say? That he was pathetic, sad, a child, a useless member of their cast. It was fine that he said those things- constructive criticism, would that be the name? And it was Todd’s job to be like that, as their wizard. It was Jeff’s job to play the game, and play it correctly. If he couldn’t do that, then there was no point in being here at all. And that was all fine, because he  _ wanted  _ to be here.

… Of course that was right, Jeff refused to let himself even  _ try  _ to question that. He didn’t want to leave, that was for sure. He… well, he wasn’t really sure what he wanted. Beyond wanting to win. Maybe he wanted a dog? Maybe he wanted…

No, no, he didn’t really want anything. Because he was fine, perfectly content. What else could he possibly ask for?

He found himself facing the window again, staring his own reflection dead in the eyes. Eyes sunken in, skin pale and hollow, but when Jeff squinted, he could see the injuries he truly  _ deserved  _ cutting into him. The bruises, the scratches, the blood pouring out of his mouth- it felt so wrong looking at himself without seeing those things. The blood splattered across his face, caking his hands, was absent, and Jeff felt like it shouldn’t have been. Everything else was fine; it was just that his reflection was wrong. 

But he could fix it. Everything was going to be fine.

He turned on his heel again, trying to wake up his face, forcing himself to smile. It was more than wobbly, his cheeks rising and falling with every footstep,  _ something _ twitching with every heartbeat- but it was a start. He could feel himself shaking, his teeth grinding against each other, the iron taste as he bit into his tongue- but all that didn’t matter. 

He paused, facing the door. He took a breath, reminded himself of what exactly he was doing- fixing things, making them _ alright  _ again, keeping the darkness away- and turned. 

And walked, with a smile on his face, unwavering. Staring back at himself in the window, it really wasn’t his best; forced, strained, hollow, painful looking, because it very much was. But it was necessary, and it would be enough.

It had to be. He had to be fine. He couldn’t lose, not again. 

It didn’t matter how much pain he was in, how many shadows he saw out of the corner of his eye, how many ghostly whispers he heard late at night. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to break down sobbing, how much he wanted to scream or break the window, just so he could avoid seeing himself like this- this was what he had to do. And he knew he could do it,  _ had  _ to do it; because he didn’t have a choice. 

He analyzed his reflection, captured his expression and committed it to memory, setting it in stone. He needed this. Not because things weren’t already fine, but he needed them to continue to be. 

His smile almost fell, but he held it up with his fingers. He needed this. Everything was going to be okay. 

Of course it would be. Because none of this was really about  _ him.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [this is fine meme]


	9. day 9/loose you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Todd goes back on his bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh mama mia,,,
> 
> alright I know this prompt is a typo its supposed to be "lose you" but,, I ran with it anyway and now I have this mama fucken mia,,, this was quite fun to write though fgdhdfhg
> 
> I spun the wheel a lot for this one bc I wasn't totally sure what I wanted to do, it gave me todd and then ian and then dean again so,,, that's what I did hee hoo
> 
> heres a bigger tw, the past couple days have been more tame so. its me who is back on my bullshit in fact, pretty big gore warning here it gets gross dfhgfhdf,, if youre like me who specifically gets freaked out by wrists for some reason,,, watch out!

Dean didn't know what the _fuck_ Todd thought he was doing, what he was even trying to do here; but he did _not_ fuck with it. At all. 

What would this place be called, a dungeon? A cave, that led into many tunnels, into an intricate maze that didn't seem to make any spatial sense. He didn't know where the others were- the stone walls were completely soundproof, and for the one moment they split up, they managed to get irretrievably lost. Trying to find them proved fruitless; all Dean got in response was the echo of his own yelling, his own brisk footsteps against freezing cold stone.

Ian had followed him slightly more closely, when the initial separation occurred, so he was the only one Dean didn't manage to lose. And he definitely wasn't letting himself get lost _alone_ in this _stupid_ place, so he never let Ian get even a step too far behind him. 

He didn't understand what the point of this place was. Todd had led them to it, shoved them in, locked the door behind them and vanished, leaving them to wander through the maze on their own. There were carvings on the wall, patterns that would be beautiful and impressive if not for the context here, expansive and wrapping around the walls, turning certain tunnels into endless seeming spirals. They probably meant something, but Dean couldn't be _bitched_ to try and figure it out. 

Something wouldn't let him stop for long enough to analyze them. Ian tried to, Dean noticed; but it just didn't feel safe. Dean didn't know what was supposed to happen if they stood still for too long, but it just felt _weird._ Unsettling, like something was crawling under his skin, but could only grow and begin to take over when he stood passively still. 

There had to be some boss, or something, at the end of this maze. A pigman minotaur or something, that would be pretty sick, if he could actually get to it. He _hoped_ that this place wasn't actually endless, but he wouldn't put it past Todd to pull something stupid like that. And he really hoped that it didn't have too much to do with the carvings on the wall, because he didn't think he'd be able to chill enough to think this through even if he wanted to, and stopping _scared_ him, probably more than it should have. If he just kept going, he'd find the end eventually, right?

"Dean, I- Okay, wait, hold on," Ian called out, beginning to trail a bit further behind Dean yet again. Dean didn't exactly appreciate that. Ian stood in the dead center of the tunnel, but turned towards the wall, holding a torch up to the carvings. 

"Ian, let's maybe not-"

"No, I- I swear we've seen this before, right?" Ian asked, moving the torch to gesture at the carving, tracing the large spiral in the center. "This big spiral, and the branches, and how it goes and crosses the floor and over to the other wall and stuff-"

"Ian, it doesn't matter. We gotta keep moving."

"It might! You don't know that," Ian barked back, a smile on his face indicating that he was somehow _enjoying_ some tiny portion of this. Maybe bitterly and merely out of spite, but Dean couldn't relate, and didn't trust it. "And we haven't been getting _anywhere._ I swear, we've passed this before, it's gotta mean something."

Dean was pretty sure Ian was right, they _had_ seen this specific pattern before. The big spiral, curled branches reaching out from it, both abstract patterns and literal branches bearing what looked like blackberries. They spread over the floor and up the wall onto the ceiling, making that _spiral_ effect in the tunnel ahead of them. It probably _did_ mean something, now that Dean bothered to give it two seconds of thought; but he still wasn't interested in the slightest.

Ian went quiet, which worried Dean. He hadn't gone anywhere when Dean looked back at him, he was just _staring_ at the carving in quiet contemplation, and perfect stillness.

Dean didn't like standing still. He didn't know why it bothered him so much, in these tunnels specifically, but it made him feel defenseless. He shifted his weight from one foot to another, paced a little bit along the centerline of the tunnel, but there wasn't much he could do while waiting for Ian. 

"... Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think I get it."

Dean wasn’t really sure why that sentence struck him with raw _fear;_ presumably, them figuring out this stupid maze puzzle would be a good thing, would mean they got to _leave._ But there was something simply _off_ in Ian’s tone- too calm, too accepting, too smugly aware of _something_ that Dean couldn’t possibly guess. Something about it made his already racing heart skip a beat; something just seemed _wrong._

“... Yeah?” Dean said back, trying not to let his voice waver _too much._ Reluctantly, he walked to Ian’s side, his eyes flickering over the carving while mostly focusing on Ian. 

“Yeah. You… You see the big spiral in the middle, here?” Ian began, pointing it out and tracing it with his finger, going from the inside out. Dean wasn’t sure whether or not he was imagining it, if he was just being unreasonable at that point, but Ian seemed almost worryingly _precise_ with how he traced every single layer of the spiral. 

“... Yeah,” Dean affirmed, not sure exactly what was here to _get._

“And how it keeps, y'know, like… going out, branching from certain parts, they’re like- reaching, almost…” Ian continued, still tracing the spiral with pinpoint accuracy.

And then, Dean heard something _clack,_ like two marbles hitting each other. He didn’t know what it was until he looked back at Ian.

“And they go to the sides,” Ian droned on, drawing out the _s,_ pointing out the branch that continued down the direction they were going, and Dean noticed that Ian’s head was laying on his own shoulder. Not hunched; his posture seemed almost _better_ than usual, but his neck was fully twisted to the side. Either broken, or way too _flexible._ “And up on the ceiling…”

Dean began frantically backing away, not quite brave enough to try and draw his sword, but enough to hold his hands up in front of him in some sort of half-defense. It didn’t protect him from what he was seeing though; the echoing _clack_ of Ian’s neck snapping in half, assuming it somehow wasn’t broken already, letting his head fall backwards, almost looking at the opposite wall. His finger kept tracing the carvings, as if pulled by a string, but the rest of his body was totally limp. He wasn’t even really standing; it looked as if all of his weight was being put into the imaginary string, being held up by the ceiling.

“Ian, Jesus, _fuck-”_ Dean stammered, nearly choking on air, his throat going dry. He regretted speaking almost immediately, as Ian straightened up, standing like a _normal person_ again, and turned to face Dean. 

“What, do you still not get it?” Ian asked, and the words rang in Dean’s skull like a _boom_ of thunder, like a building being demolished. Ian took two steps towards Dean, one towards the center of the tunnel; Dean stumbled back, finally drawing his sword with shaking hands.

“Wh- What _are_ you?”

“You still don’t get it,” Ian said smugly, shaking his head, an unnatural smile spreading across his face, as if his cheeks were being pulled up by those same invisible strings. He held his hands up by the sides of his head, palms out, pointing up at the ceiling. Dean refused to take his eyes off Ian. “Todd’s doing this, right? He’s the big, scary, mastermind of this whole damn place. Think he’s sending a message with this?”

Dean released a shuddering breath, knowing full well that he… wouldn’t be able to strike Ian, even if he wanted to; even if that was what he had to do. He just _couldn’t,_ even if he was all freaky and contorted, it was still his _friend._ Right? “... What _message?”_

Ian laughed. It didn’t sound like Ian’s voice. 

“A simple one, really-” Ian murmured, and after a moment, a ghostly red line was traced into both of Ian’s wrists- a _cut,_ but there was no blood. And it took a good couple seconds for Dean’s brain to really catch up with what he was seeing, but Ian’s skin was _sagging,_ slowly sinking from where it was cut free at his wrists; until suddenly, his skin fell all the way down to his elbow, like a curtain being released revealing pink muscle and veins seemingly dyed _black_ . Still no blood, but the _iron_ scent was very much there, mixed with something almost like nail polish remover, that made him want to _puke._ “I think he’s telling us we’re _puppets.”_

Dean turned and ran. He heard the _clacking_ again, marbles raining down on the stone floor, but he didn’t look back to see what was even _happening_ to Ian’s body. All he could do was run. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ian didn't drink his milk now all of his bones are broken smh


	10. day 10/farewell forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean... tries. God, does he try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> godddd im so sad im trying so hard to catch up but these keep getting so long it is against my wishes and my brain hurts aughghgh,,,,
> 
> but here take this,,, I didn't use the wheel for this I just thought of ryzab and floored it fghgdf,,, this is set in mc7 I guess, talks a lot about mc6, hee hoo sadness time.,, also yknow. not reflecting on mcjones' actual reasons for retiring here hfgddf no disrespect intended I just think it is very interesting to write about in universe so. shout out.. and unrelated but late happy valentines day fhgdf I wish I could have gotten something out on that day but alas..
> 
> not too much to warn for here again, just the big sad and reference to previous deaths, it be like that

Dean knew that in this world, not much was really… up to him, or any of them.

Their survival was, of course; they weren’t getting any help in that department. Except for the totem thing, last season- but Dean didn’t think that really counted. But their situation, their goal in the game, and _how_ they were there- it wasn’t up to them. Dean didn’t think he was allowed to know why he was there- such a significant portion of his brain, his memories of anything outside of this place, was simply _clouded._

He would have been upset about that, he definitely was when he first realized he was forgetting; but at that point, he was just _tired_ of it all. He had no standard with which to _compare_ this place to, so… 

What he felt was too, out of his control. 

There was one rule in this game, one that was rather ironic, and broken every time they moved on to a new season; _if you die, you’re dead for good._ Except for that one time with the totem, again. Death was painful, and permanent, and scarring; until they switched over to the next season, the next world, and they got to start over.

He knew that well, better than most, due to how long he had been here. He didn’t actually… know, really, _how long_ he had been stuck in this place, but _long._ Long enough to have seen countless guests come and go, before Ray, Luke and Lucah started showing up again and again, before Jeff made his entrance and stole the show, even. Even if they did _technically_ come back from death, most of the time, it _definitely_ left its mark. Lava still made Dean nervous, just from the sight of it and the burst of heat, even from afar. He had a lot of bad memories, with lava- more than he’d like to admit, honestly. 

And so, he felt like a fucking _idiot_ for forgetting that _simple fact._

This game made him feel like an idiot most of the time, probably a solid 85%. There was so much he didn’t know, despite his experience and his supposed _skill,_ that was simply _kept_ from him. Little tricks and mechanics often slipped his mind, as well as most of his _memories,_ his perception of what this place _really_ was, his concept of when they might be done and freed. He didn’t know what else was _out there,_ couldn’t _remember,_ but he knew the guests went somewhere when they left. He knew that one day, he’d get out of here. Maybe not for a long time, but he knew they did actually age; he could see it in all of them, especially in those that had been with him since the beginning, and especially in himself. He knew that nothing could last forever; not even with the _magic_ of this world. 

Thinking back, he knew he shouldn’t be too hard on himself, as he didn’t know how things were going to turn out; none of them did, none of them _could,_ that was the whole point. But that was what he hated the most, not knowing. 

They didn’t know who was going to stick around and who was just a guest, who would get a hang of the game immediately and who would flounder, who would die suddenly and never be seen again. There was a sense, sometimes; Luke and Ray, of course, gave him the feeling that they were the kind to keep coming back, but he believed he knew that deep down, even before their repeated returns. And Jeff too, Dean knew he was _important,_ from the moment he first saw him- a _je ne sais quoi,_ he supposed. But of course, he was no stranger to being wrong, especially with feelings as intangible as those. 

And he had been very wrong, recently. 

Last season had been a surprisingly good season for him, honestly. The totem, as much as he complained about it, and Todd in general; it was a really fun adventure, going out there, and he enjoyed knowing that when he yelled at the sky, there was actually someone to hear it. He loved their guests, Chad and Dodger- he really hoped they’d be the kind to show up again, and he actually _won,_ which was a huge plus. With two others, too- he was very proud of them all, and himself- they did it all without their…

… Their professor.

Dean didn’t know why he still bothered beating around the bush, even in his own head, when it came to this _bullshit._ He’d been staring at the ground, cold, smooth stone beneath him, in a small cave beneath a ledge, shielded from the elements- from all the _snow_ they happened to get where they made their base. He found this place on his own, maybe further than he needed to be from home, and maybe a little less than _safe-_ but he wanted his own little, quiet place to mourn. _Whatever._ Go ahead and sue him; he was a lawyer anyway, somewhere outside of this place, he was pretty sure. That was one of the few memories he managed to hold onto, so he assumed it was important. 

He lifted his head, taking another look at the cobblestone cross he’d built; and almost immediately, his eyes grew watery, forcing him to avert his eyes and choke it down. 

He didn’t know why this just… _got him_ so bad. He should have known, should have gotten the _feeling,_ or should have _at least_ moved on from it by that point. But there he was, sulking in a cave far from home, alone with only an empty, pitiful grave; one that he couldn’t even justify putting up in their real graveyard. Not that Mcjones didn’t deserve it; but Dean knew the others didn’t need the reminder, or the distraction, the unnecessary heartache. And he thought, maybe, that if Mcjones really was still watching from somewhere, beneath his grave; maybe he’d appreciate the quiet. 

But Dean knew he was being ridiculous with that thought. This place was selfish, above all. He knew Mcjones was gone, and wherever he was, he would never know about this. This was still _kind of_ a place of mourning, but much less a place to press F and pay respects; above all, it was just his sad little emo sulking corner. And while he didn’t like saying that outright, he knew it, deep down. 

It didn’t really matter. Everyone in this game needed their time to sulk and be all edgy; that was the nature of the game itself, with all of its pain and loss. Nobody would blame him for this, he knew; but he still felt guilty for it all. There was a lot of guilt within him, so much that he could hardly even place.

He didn’t know if anyone knew that last season was going to be Mcjones’ last. He knew by now, obviously; another one of those _feelings,_ those that he found so difficult to describe. He knew how it felt when somebody was just taking a break or planning on returning, and he knew how it felt when somebody was _really,_ gone for good. And Mcjones wasn’t the kind to take time off, Dean had learned; therefore, he was just gone. He was tired, Dean had seen it on his face; and he was an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

They were all tired, though. He certainly didn’t know last season was going to be Mcjones’ last, and honestly, he doubted if Mcjones even did. He didn’t understand the circumstances in which people were able to come and go from here, he probably wasn’t _allowed_ to know; and so, he was clueless when it came to Mcjones. Maybe he had struck some kind of deal with Todd, or sentenced himself to some different fate; maybe he had discovered some forbidden knowledge, being the professor he was, and needed to be removed- or the game had just grown tired of him. Maybe he had just yeeted himself from existence by the force of his own sheer exhaustion. Dean knew he’d never really know.

And Dean was just as clueless on the front of if Mcjones knew, himself. If he was just as shocked as the rest of them to find himself outside, freed from this game. If he had the _feeling,_ but wasn’t sure what to make of it. If maybe, he knew, but was still trying to work up the balls to tell the others; but by the time he went down into that cave, it was too late. Or maybe, most understandably, yet most frighteningly of all, he simply _didn’t know._ That aligned perfectly with the nature of this game; maybe, Dean blindly thought that Mcjones was forever a regular who had no plans of going anywhere, and maybe the _damn_ totem existing and breaking their one rule gave him more hope and naivete than it should have, caught him with his guard down. That was on him, he knew; he should have known, or at least been better equipped to handle it.

… But _God,_ the memory still _killed_ him. It came back to him every time he saw lava, _anywhere;_ every time he found himself in a cave, really, even this one. _Especially_ here, as he confronted himself with the reality of his loss, this permanent death, that he was so familiar with yet so unprepared for. He couldn’t even remember what the last thing he said to Mcjones was, what was the last thing he heard; he didn’t know if that was because of the nature of the situation, being so sudden and shocking, or because it was too being taken from him, being worn down like a rock on a riverbank. He didn’t know; he didn’t think he ever really would. 

He couldn’t help but wonder if things could have been different, last season. If he was closer to Mcjones when he got close to where he died, if he could have warned him or somehow saved him, if they had gone together in a different direction entirely. If they had used the totem on him instead; if Dodger had made it inside in time, and they never even had to make that decision from _hell-_ even though Dean was sure, Todd must have been hoping for a scenario exactly like that, where they had to _choose_. He didn’t know if Mcjones would have forgiven them all if they chose to revive him, in all honesty; he was tired, and died way dumber, and really, Dodger deserved it more than anyone. But Dean still couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like with Mcjones in the Nether fortress, fighting the Wither with him, maybe even _winning_. The fact that they won with three survivors was impressive in and of itself, and their chances only went up with the more players they had, so a plus one was certainly feasible. And if not that, probably dying in Mcjones’ arms, or something; he didn’t really know. But that sounded kind of funny. 

Better than this, at least. Dean really would have liked to be anywhere _other_ than here- maybe even dead if he wanted to be extra edgy with it- but he didn’t have the choice. Things were the way they were, and by a certain point, there was no changing it. There was no bringing Mcjones back; no more totem, no happy ending, not even a tragic, dramatic one, nothing at all; just a shout, and a sizzle, and then nothing. 

There was no goodbye; that was what _really_ got to Dean. He couldn’t remember what the last thing he said to Mcjones was, or the last thing he had heard from him, and there wasn’t really any point in trying to remember or find out. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t suited for a final goodbye.

Maybe that was what the point of making this place really was; although Dean knew his motivations were much too convoluted to really pin down to a single goal. But a final farewell made perfect sense; most of the others, if not all, got their sendoff, one way or another- their funeral processions, or in the glory of victory, satisfaction enough in the fact that they’d won. Mcjones didn’t get that, due to the nature of his sudden death, and the fact that they simply… didn’t know. Didn’t know that they had wasted their final chance to do… whatever would have been appropriate, then. Dean hated how much he could only think about in abstract terms, everything he just _didn’t know._

But he knew this was a kind of ongoing funeral. A place to mourn, among other things, and a place he knew he’d keep visiting. Maybe one he’d recreate, as they kept travelling through seasons, if he was destined to be moody about this forever. A grave, and a sanctuary, a vault of knowledge and memories that Dean couldn’t even fully access.

Where Dean knew, at some point, he’d give his final farewell. Lay him to rest for good, although his body was long gone, and the others had already moved on. 

But looking up at the grave, as he got all teary eyed again, his throat closed up too; and he could never think clearly enough to get out his final thoughts. _Something something, I’m sorry, I love you, I’ll miss you ‘til I get the fuck out of here too,_ whatever. The sentiment was there, but never the closure, no matter how hard he tried, stumbling and choking on his own words. He was never good with the eulogies, anyway.

But maybe, there was something to be appreciated in the silence, at the very least. He knew Mcjones used to like it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> he really said aight im boutta head out 🚶


	11. day 11/graceless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ray's expectations were already low, but this just sucked, man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please for the love of god help me I wanna catch up aughhghgg,,,,,,
> 
> this one is the shortest so far and thank god because maybe ill be able to catch up if theyre not all so ridiculously long dfghgdf,, and even though this is short I still like it so here,, im so sad though im gonna try to speedrun this but who knows how its gonna go,, worst case scenario updating this bleeds into march but idc im gonna finish this basard,, but yeah wheel gave me ray again gdhh lets get it
> 
> tw for death damn that's crazy.. general kinda grossness too bc wither poison, it be like that

Well... this _really_ wasn't the way Ray was hoping this would go. 

In this game, they were no stranger to death; and Ray had been here long enough to understand that it was to be expected. Not guaranteed, obviously they were _hoping_ they'd all survive, but... by then, it was considered to be somewhat of an inevitability.

Ray had learned to expect it for himself. He had lost before, and assuming he kept coming back here, he wouldn't be surprised if he kept losing over and over again. He didn't really mind that; dying wasn't the _best_ feeling, obviously, but he didn't hate it there nearly as much as some of the others seemed to. Maybe that had to do with the fact that he got to take breaks, for whatever reason, it seemed like the _regulars_ never actually _left;_ and he certainly seen much _less_ than the rest of them. But regardless, he liked the adventure, he liked his friends, and the moments where they managed to escape death were actually _really dope._

But run from it as they might, death still arrives. Honestly, Ray was just hoping that his death would be cool. Graceful, fought with honor, maybe sacrificing himself to save another, or whatever. Cooler than the last two times he had died, to _what,_ a big _bitchass_ Wither skeleton one time, and a hole in the floor the other. _That was so stupid..._

But, _well..._ he knew he couldn't always get what he wanted.

Collapsed on the floor of the Nether fortress, the Nether brick scraping and digging into his skin, coughing and gasping for humid, heavy air; and black tendrils unfurling beneath his skin, from the center of his chest spreading outwards, sapping his strength and making him feel as if he was being _torched alive._ Ray knew that he really didn't have a choice in the matter at that point. This was how he was going to go, _yet again._ The same, stupid, _bitchass_ way.

Wither skeletons fucking _sucked._ And Wither _poison_ was _nasty_ , like if grape flavored cough syrup was _actively_ trying to fucking kill you. As if it was trying to rip you to shreds from the inside out, getting under your skin, into your lungs and your _head;_ out of all the things one could die to here, Ray felt like that had to be one of the most painful; second maybe to falling into lava and being burned alive. Wasn't he _lucky_ . Definitely, though, Wither poison was the grossest, and the worst in terms of the awful sense of _helplessness_.

He knew he was going to die, collapsed on the floor like he was. He was accepting of it, even. He couldn't look and see exactly where the Wither skeleton was, where anyone else was for that matter; but he knew it would come and finish him off soon. Maybe it was taking its sweet time, considering Ray's state; he hated that, but it made sense, considering their cruelty in every other aspect. Maybe it was watching him, waiting for him to make one last move.

Ray didn't think he physically could. Despite the painfulness and general _horribleness_ of this kind of death, there was really no honor in it; no bragging rights, no epic factor, not even the ability to _try_ to go down swinging. He couldn't even move his right arm at that point, let alone grab his sword and get up. No grace, no honor, no high stakes combat, no intense fight to win or lose; just loss, and pain, and inevitable death.

He knew when his time was up, when he could hear the bones scraping together and the brittle footsteps approaching him. He knew when it raised its weapon, ready to shatter his skull.

He knew, and he knew he hated those _bitchasses_.

Next time, he swore; he'd have to die to the actual boss, or a different enemy _at least._ All he wanted was the _chance_ to fight back; no guarantee that he'd win, probably the opposite in fact, but just the grace of _trying._


End file.
